Baumgartner Generations: Henry
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Authors: Selena Kitt
Tags: #Fiction - Adult, #Romance - Adult, #sex, #romance, #erotic, #erotic romance
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Baumgartner Generations: Henry
© 2010 by Selena
Kitt
A
ll
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product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any
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locales is entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work
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First Edition November 2010
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Baumgartner
Generations: Henry
By Selena Kitt
Instead of
passing him through his classes because of his athletic ability like they did
in high school, he discovers his professors actually mean it when they say he
needs to do the work or he’s going to fail his classes—and be kicked off the
all-star hockey team.
Adjusting to
life at university sure isn’t as easy or fun as he thought it was going to
be—his roommate likes the same girl he does, and it looks like she likes him,
too; he’s failing English for sure and the dragon-lady who teaches the class
seems to have a personal vendetta against him; and his hockey coach has even
gone so far as to bench him!
When his
parents hire him a tutor, he turns to this angel of mercy for help, but little
does he realize that Mrs. Toni Franklin is going to complicate his life in ways
he never could have foreseen…
Warning: This
title contains erotic situations, graphic language, sex, and a sex toy and
masturbation scene that you have to read to believe!
Table of Contents
I don’t know
if I would go so far as to say that every man should at some point in his young
life be under the tutelage of an older woman, but I do know that if I could go
back in time, I wouldn’t even consider changing what happened during my
freshman year in college.
What did
Mrs. Toni Franklin teach me that was so valuable? It wasn’t what you might
think—it wasn’t the tips or tricks or techniques she taught me to use with a
woman in bed, although I have to admit, those were undeniably helpful. It
wasn’t really the sex at all, to tell you the truth.
Toni was a
goddess, and she knew it. She taught me to worship her the way all women should
be worshipped—not from afar, put on a pedestal like some untouchable, but in
the flesh, as the sleek, voluptuous creature of the earth she was.
Women are
amazing, amorphous, changeably delightful creatures, and I know most men spend
their whole lives trying to figure them out. Toni made me realize that most men
too often hit the tree, but miss the target. The lovely mystery of woman was
meant to be experienced and enjoyed, not measured and controlled.
Toni taught
me that women are the weather.
If you want
to know what the weather is like, open the window. Can you predict the weather?
Sometimes you can feel a storm rolling in, or see a gorgeous blue sky and know
rain isn’t anywhere in the near future. But how much energy have we wasted
trying to control or manipulate it, living in fear of storms? Men have created
all sorts of instruments in an attempt to predict the path of the weather, and
while we have advanced to some degree, there are always rainbows that go
missed, tsunamis that could never have been foreseen.
It is an
impossible and futile task, when a man makes a woman a problem or puzzle to be
solved. They are and always will be unpredictable. I’d rather spend my time
basking in the sunshine and walking in the rain than fiddling with instruments
and planning a siege against the next onslaught. If you’re not living in the
present, you’re not living at all.
I was
nineteen when I met Toni. I would never deny or discount how much I learned,
the invaluable gifts she gave as my tutor—and not just in the lessons of love
and women. Toni opened my life, unlocking parts of me I hid from everyone, even
myself. And when she discovered my deepest secret, she still didn’t falter.
Instead, she
just taught me how to read.
Henry hated
libraries. He couldn’t think of a place he felt more uncomfortable than
standing in the shadows of thousands of books. He was in the basement of the
UGLi—the University of Michigan Undergraduate Library—and he couldn’t have come
up with a more apt name for the place than the one his fellow students had coined,
the stacks looming, the florescent lights casting a dull, eerie glow.
“Four
seventy-five.” His whisper was barely an exhale but it felt loud in the silence
as he ran his finger along the spines of books, their plastic covers crinkling.
He repeated his excuse for checking this particular book out in his head.
It’s
for my nephew. He’s in kindergarten.
Of course,
he didn’t have a nephew. His older sister, as far as he knew, was far from
hooked-up, let alone ready to get married and have a baby. But what were the
odds he would run into anyone who knew his family here on campus?
It’s for
my little cousin.
He changed his head-story, just to be safe.
He’s
having trouble.
Trouble.
Yeah. He was in big trouble all right.
“Can I help
you find something?”
Henry gave a
strangled, smothered cry, taking a step back when a pretty redhead popped her
head around the corner of the stacks.
“It’s okay,
I work here.” The redhead stepped around to his side of the shelves, smiling,
and he felt his heart pounding again, but for a different reason this time.
“You sounded a little lost.”
“I need a book.”
Smooth,
Henry.
He held out
the paper scrap he’d copied the call number on to avoid any further talking and
possible embarrassment.
She took it
from him, studying it, and he studied her—gray skirt and black sweater, making
her long red hair, straight and almost to the middle of her back, seem even
more like fire, even in the dim light. She had to be a student, he thought, as
she turned to the stacks, running her fingernail over spines the same way he
had. She was young, about his age. He watched her fingers caressing the books,
long and delicate compared to his big old paws, the nails neatly manicured.
“You’re in
the right place,” she murmured, moving her finger up to the next shelf. “Would
you get me that stool?”
He went to the
end of the aisle where she pointed, dragging the rolling stool over toward her
in response, not daring any more words. They’d just get him in trouble.
“Thanks.”
She gave him a grateful smile, stepping up onto the stool and reaching for the
top shelf. Her legs were long, too, her skin pale and creamy. He realized,
watching her stretch, one of her feet slipping loose of her heels, that she
wasn’t wearing any nylons. Seeing the intimate pink flesh of her instep as she
went up onto her toes made his breath catch and he swallowed his immediate
response, trying to look anywhere else.
She glanced
down at him, still smiling. “Would you hold me?”
He gaped up
at her, dumbfounded. Hold her? That wasn’t exactly what he wanted to do to
her—but hell, it was a start.
“Hold…you?”
He faltered.
“I don’t
want to fall,” she explained. “Just hold me. Here.” She reached for his hand,
guiding, placing his palm flat against the curve of her hip. He matched the
gesture on her other side, squeezing gently, feeling her skirt shift over her
skin underneath as she stretched up again. He steadied her, his eyes level with
her back, her hair tickling his nose. Not that he was complaining.
“Ah, got
it!” she announced, triumphant, turning around on the stool so quickly it
startled him and he grabbed her waist, finding himself eye-level now with the tiny
buds of her breasts in her black v-neck sweater. He realized, too late, that he
should have offered to retrieve the book, but he was too distracted by his
current view to lament his lack of chivalry. “Oh. Wow. This is the book you
wanted?”
He flushed,
glad for the dark shadows now, his story all ready in his head. “It’s for my
little cousin. He’s having trouble in kindergarten.”
He waited
for the anticipated response. Hell, it might even earn him some points.
Oh how
sweet you are to help him. You must like little kids.
The redhead
was silent. She stepped off the stool, out of Henry’s arms, and held the book
out to him. Glancing down at the cover, his eyes widened, mouth dropping. If
he’d been red before, he was positively purple now.
“That’s—” He
couldn’t get the words out, staring at the picture of the completely nude,
entwined couple on the front.
The Complete Idiot’s Guide to the Kama Sutra.
“That’s not—”
“Not what?”
She blinked at him, trying not to smile. “Not appropriate for kindergarteners?”
“No,” he
croaked, desperate to correct the mistake. “That’s not the book I was looking
for.”
“You sure?”
She smirked. “It’s the number you wrote down.” She showed him the slip of
paper, and sure enough, the Dewey decimal matched perfectly—375.4 W.
“But I
looked it up on the computer!” He pointed desperately to the end of the aisle.
She hesitated,
looking like she wasn’t sure she was ready to believe him.
“Come look!”
He stalked down to the end of the stacks and around the corner. There was a row
of computers near the elevators and he went straight to the one he’d used to
look up the book. He turned to find her behind him, curious, and he pointed to
the screen. No one had touched it since and it was still up there, plain as
day. “See!”
She leaned
in, glancing from the title to the slip of paper she held. “Well, I found your
problem.” Sitting down at the computer, she began to type. Another title came
up on the screen, the one Henry still had in his hand. He dropped it on a chair
face down when he realized, glad it was out of sight. Not that he hadn’t
appreciated the subject—or the picture on the front, for that matter. If he’d
been alone, he probably would have flipped through it, just out of curiosity.
But with the redhead there, it was all too embarrassing to be contemplated.
